


Carve thy name on a moss covered stone

by Garecc, Gunpowderdtim (Garecc)



Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [23]
Category: Once Upon a Time (In Space) - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Clones, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, War, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Garecc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Gunpowderdtim
Summary: In which some Rose Reds who broke away from Coles army hear a gunshot, and assume the worst.This is about my Rose Red ocs and their various backstories, and how they would react to the gunshots.
Relationships: Rose Reds & Other Rose Reds
Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799860
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	Carve thy name on a moss covered stone

**Author's Note:**

> Thorns is stressed team mom
> 
> You can find more of Branches's backstory in my fic [eternity will see her dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172884) she is the Red who gets beaten and "dies" here. Thorns is also there but not mentioned explicitly in the fic except when I allude to stronger and more perfect Reds, Thorns is grouped in with them.

There is a gunshot.

Freckles goes still, her eyes going hard and blank as her metallic fingers curl around her gun. Click click click as the metal moves.

She stands up, not thinking, numb. Numb and responding as she always has to violence: block out your emotions and focus on the Enemy. Don't think. Just shoot. 

If you think you will panic. And if you panic you will die. 

Your panic will make your aim stray, and if your aim strays, you will miss. And if you miss, you will be killed, or worse.

If you miss, if you fail, you are punished.

If you so much as flinch, Your Superior will be angry.

Freckles clenches her teeth and steps forward. Steps forward with metal facsimiles of legs welded to her bones. They weren’t meant to last more than a few months, they were meant to die with her.

But she didn't die, and the legs remained.

(They weren’t proper prosthetics, weren’t much more than metal stilts she was programmed with the knowledge of how to use, how to run with, how to ignore the blood dripping from whatever remained of her legs as she walked. Programmed with the ability to ignore how much they hurt in favor of shooting shooting shooting.)

There is nothing but void in her eyes. Void and barely contained panic, but of course, she has to be calm.

_She has to be calm._

She can't die.

She can't be afraid.

Just breathe and just shoot. 

It will be over soon. Be it through death or victory, it will be over soon.

Just breathe, don't think, and follow your orders.

Ignore the blood.

Ignore the pain.

Ignore the fear.

(Ignore your sisters walking to their deaths beside you)

Ignore everything but The Enemy, the Gun In Your Hands, and your aim.

Just shoot. 

There is only death on the horizon, but it does not matter, because you are not and you need to fight.

Just shoot. 

There is an Enemy, and you are a Red. 

You were made to fight, _and you_ **_refuse_ ** _to die._

Freckles steps forward, holding her gun. She is ready to fight, her eyes are cold. And she is (not) afraid.

* * *

Leaf freezes entirely, her heart wobbling as flashes of blood-blood-pain-death, bodies torn apart, her own face that's not hers draining of life, again again again again, her reflection, her sister, her clone blown to nothing and still smiling, drenched in blood and war-torn terror, fear and pain dance behind her eyes as she whimpers. Flinching back flinching away hiding. Hiding behind the stronger ones. Hiding from the Enemy. Always hiding. The Enemy will hurt her. Will drag her away from her sisters and make her talk. Send bolts of electric-burning-pain through her again. 

(She hadn’t even known what they wanted. She hadn’t known her orders. She hadn’t known anything beyond Where To Shoot and Who The Enemy Is. She's just a Red. _She's just a Red._ She just follows and acts. She was made to die and _knows she will_. A good Red (and she is one) just shoots and pretends with every breath that they don’t fear it’s their last.

She finds she can't breathe, she can't move, can't do anything but watch as Freckles, Thorns and Stem step forward. Step towards Where The Enemy Is and she wants to _hide._

As she stumbles back half a step, still frozen still ice someone (another reflection) takes her arm (but it's _wrong_ it's _young_ ), the hand sudden, jarring. Wreathed in panic she tries to pull back but _oh_ it's _Petals_. Then Petals is tugging her away, and Leaf finds herself walking.

Away from where Her Sisters are walking and a part of her is screaming to get in line to march you are a Red _why aren’t you fighting?_ But she lets Petals drag her away.

She is a Red, and she is far far far too afraid to fight.

* * *

Branches collapses back against the wall, shaking like a tree in the wind. Shaking like a mourner shaking. Shaking like death. The scars on her back burn ache burn hurt and the bullet still in her thigh scrapes against her bone. 

She hurts.

There is nothing but danger outside and maybe if she makes herself small enough they won't see her. Of course, being small being still being _obvious_ will only make her an easier target. _She knows this._

She can only cower as words of sisters who never got names (never knew they could have a thing so special and unique as a name) echo in her head (Pathetic, weak, bait, disposable) and she chokes back sobs that would make them notice her make them _see her_ draw their _attention_ and her back hurts so much and she just makes herself smaller smaller smaller because _maybe they won't see her_ and if they don't see her maybe she won't be hurt again. 

An arm hooks around her, gentle but unyielding as her reflection her sister pulled her along. 

She is walked to the corner, covered by overturned tables and a desk, and made to sit.

She folds into herself, folds into her arms, she has to be smaller has to hide.

She is a Red, and she has _never_ been great at War.

* * *

Thorns' heart thumps loudly in her chest as she draws her gun, as she forces herself to not _panic_ to not _break_ to not show _weakness_. 

She is calm. She reminds herself. _She's calm._

She takes a deep breath and plasters on the confidence she's never felt. Another mask over her psyche, another lie on the pile of half-truths to convince herself that she isn’t afraid. 

She is strong. She thinks as she clicks off the safety. She's strong.

The gun is heavy in her hands and she wants nothing more than to drop it. To find a peaceful solution. To negotiate.

But she needs to protect them. They're Reds, to be shot first and questioned later. 

To be killed with their deaths celebrated.

They are monsters to the rest of infinity, traitors to their own

She is brave. She thinks as she follows Freckles. She is brave.

She needs to protect them. (She can't watch the ones she loves die again.)

She has to be those things, after all.

None of the others can be.

Her gun is loaded, her thoughts controlled.

She is Thorns. She reminds herself 

She refuses to just be a Red, Refuses to be Red-379645. 

She is _Thorns_.

And she is _sharp, dangerous, and she’s not dying today._

* * *

Stem jolts, eyes wide open and grip tightening on her gun. It was a small thing compared to Freckles and Thorns's weapons, hardly comparable, but it shot just as well.

Was just as deadly.

She stepped in front of all of them, teeth barred into a snarl. 

She was not helpless.

She was not brainless.

She was _not a follower._

She could think for herself and _she’s choosing to fight._

Not for Cole, not for the Rebels, but for _her goddamn family._

She’d carved this hole, she’d carved a life and a family and a goddamn _support system_ out of the ashes of a million planets and found happiness, solace even in the thrown away and broken of her peers _her sisters_ and she _would never let this go._

She sent a glance over her shoulder at Bud, who was pulling Branches, who was shaking something awful to the cover.

She was never _falling into line again._

She rushed in front of Freckles and Thorns. First in the charge.

She’s a goddamn warrior. She’s a holy fucking angel. She’s been the beaten. She’s been the broken. She has _been the shattered glass._

Not anymore.

There is not a force in this system, in this _galaxy_ that could waver her goal.

She’s a _Leader._ A _commander._

She didn't care if she was walking to her death, she was going to go down protecting her family.

She'd fought for this chance to have one. 

_She wasn't letting it go._

Cole wanted his Red’s to have fire in their souls, to march as the perfect warriors, clones of Rose.

The majority of them broke and died before finding a reason, broken toys scattered across the battlefield, no names to be mourned and not a single soul missing them.

But Stem chose her goal, became the fire consuming her and _she’ll do it again._

She has a goddamn family, she has a _life,_ she has a _name._

She’s not just a Red, and she’ll never, _ever_ define herself as one.

* * *

Petals jolts, eyes widening as she jumps to her feet, sparks of panic in her chest.

Gunshots meant danger. Meant someone was coming to kill them. 

She watched with wide eyes as Thorns, Stem and Freckles marched forward. 

Thorns sent a glance over her shoulder, almost panicked but hiding it almost well enough Petals didn't notice. Freckles moved jerkily at first, scared, but that quickly faded to unsettling calm. Stem shot to her feet like a bullet, and took the lead, as always looking as vicious as she did angry.

Petals clambers back, feeling helpless, feeling useless.

They didn't let her fight, didn't let her touch the guns.

She didn't understand _why_ . She _knew_ how to use them. She _knew_ how to aim. She'd never even _held a gun_ but the knowledge sat clear in her mind.

She could help protect them.

She _could_.

She knew she could, she knew how easy it was to aim, to pull the trigger, to defeat the enemy.

She knew they all did. 

She’d never been in a War, but she knew she could be. She was made for it, she knew how it worked.

She knew how to stand, how to find cover, instincts of a veteran coded into her DNA.

But they didn't let her and Petals understood why, she did, with how scared Branches and Leaf are, with how Freckles didn't sleep for days and when she did, she up so scared she couldn't breathe, with how Thorns loses her composure occasionally and breaks down sobbing, shaking into Branches’s arms. 

She knew what War did, but it would be different with her.

They would protect her.

It wouldn’t scar her as badly.

And they clearly needed help to fight.

But instead of going for one of the guns, she listens to Thorns, (she follows her orders), and takes Leaf’s arm.

(She’s never been in a battle, never held a gun, but Reds, especially the newer ones, are made for obedience, so Petals follows her directions.)

She dragged her towards where Bud gestured them. Because Leaf wasn't walking anytime soon. Leaf made a sound of distress, a squeak of alarm, but followed easy enough. Stumbling, shaking.

But walking, and that was all Petals could ask for.

Petals is a Red, and she is _certain_ she doesn't count as one. No matter the evidence to the contrary.

* * *

Bud froze, holding in a scream. 

Stem swirled around, making sure she was alright before ducking forward and squeezing Bud’s hand before prancing in front of Freckles and Thorns, to the front of the Charge. 

Bud took a steadying breath, forcing herself to stay rational.

She took another deep breath.

This was fine.

They would be fine.

She’d seen Stem through more than a stray gunshot, and fuck, they were _Rose Reds,_ even if there was a hunting party outside they could take them easily.

They were made to survive bullets and fights.

They would be _fine._

She took a step towards Branches, guiding her to the cover. Guiding her toward what was relative safety.

Once Branches was sitting, she took over with Leaf. Petals was never the most.. Gentle with anyone, annoyed and convinced she should be fighting.

She didn't know what physical age Petals was, but she’d guess somewhere around 12 or 13

(Somehow, deep in a half-memory that isn’t her own and she knows she shouldn’t have, she remembers a dark-haired girl telling her _No Rose, you can't fight. You're 12._ And the feeling of _no I can, fuck you, Snow._ in return, so in half-formed thoughts she doesn't realize she has, she knows Petals is just acting as she should. They are clones, after all.)

She took a headcount, no one missing. Everyone accounted for, and curled up, pistol in hand as she sat defense.

She took a long breath, ignoring her trembling fingers. Ignoring the memories threatening to overwhelm her. Memories of blood and bone and burns and gunfire whispered through her brain but and took another breath, more of a steadying gasp than anything.

This wasn't a War.

This wasn't a Battlefield.

The Enemy was small, probably no more than a posse, and they’ve gone against bigger things. Scarier things than a collection of armed civilians.

Petals leaned against her arm, and Bud took another breath. Clicking the safety off the pistol.

On her other side, Branches was sobbing soundlessly, shuddering with every moment. 

Not making even the smallest sound. Curled up so small that she was almost fully hidden by Leaf, who sat next to her, frozen, listening, staring frantically where their sisters had exited. 

There hadn't been gunfire yet, or shouting, which was a good sign.

A good sign.

Maybe it wasn't even a gunshot.

Maybe this panic was for nothing and they weren’t going to have to patch up a gunshot wound.

Maybe it was fine.

Bud just counted her breaths like seconds, and they waited.

Because that's all you can do, when your sisters are off to fight.

Wait.

Bud is a Red, and she knows that despite eternity seeing them dead, they can be happy now.

They can be happy now.

**Author's Note:**

> Mechs Tumblr: @gunpowderdtim


End file.
